The Mute and Silenced
by RosesOfTheGarden
Summary: Year after year, the Capitol slowly diminishes right before her eyes. Lavinia. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Mute and Silenced

**Author: **RosesOfTheGarden

**Fandom:** Hunger Games

**Summary: **Year after year, the Capitol slowly diminishes right before her eyes.

**Notes: **Just an idea I've had for a while. (That, and because there aren't enough Lavinia fics.) Part 1 covers Lavinia's childhood, and Part 2 is from her escape from the Capitol to her death.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own The Hunger Games.

* * *

**The Mute and Silenced**

**Part One**

The first time Lavinia sees him, she is speechless.

It is a fine morning the day he comes, sunlight sprinkling brightness onto the objects in view. She is surrounded by her five dolls—presents that she had received from her parents, one for each year she has been alive. Lavinia hums the anthem to the Games; they had just ended, and outside, the city is rejoicing after another year of Hunger Games. Because of the thick plaster walls of the playroom, the sounds outside are muted, but the sounds inside are heightened. Every hum is amplified, every movement is augmented.

She wears a shimmering outfit, one that resembles a diamond. It might be pretty to an onlooker, but it is anything _but_ comfortable to her. The little-girl dress is made of scratchy material and is almost certain to leave rashes behind. It had been the object of adoration to her mother, who had specifically picked the outfit (just for her, she had said) and ordered her to wear it for the day.

Her mother had gone somewhere last evening. Where exactly, she did not know. She often disappeared like this, without leaving a note behind to say where she was or when she would be back.

For the first few minutes her mother was gone, she had taken to fussing over the dress. But soon, she forgot how itchy her dress was and focused on dressing up her dolls, promising to each one of them that _she _wouldn't make them wear something so uncomfortable.

She is fitting a hot pink blouse onto Clarisse, a brunette with lopsided pigtails, her favorite so far, when he comes. He is bundled in light blue cloth and cradled by her mother's stick-thin arms. Her mother deposits him in the crib that she had first occupied. He is dormant, even when her mother carelessly plops him onto the sheets of the crib.

Lavinia watches in wonder. Her brother has tufts of rust-colored hair, the same shade as her own, and as her mother's before she dyed it neon green. He is a perfect replica of her dolls—all clear skin and empty eyes. And, for a second, she doubts that he is like her: a breathing, moving human.

"Mommy?" her five-year-old voice calls. "What is that?"

For moments, she doesn't answer. Her mother stares listlessly at the gold clock that hangs above the door, seeing but not interpreting. She asks again.

"Your brother," she says tersely, eyes not leaving the clock.

Suddenly her mother jerks forwards. She moves towards the door, taking short quick steps. Her mother is just about to walk out, before she calls out, "Where are you going?"

"A meeting. Just a meeting. Tell your father that when he gets back." Without looking back she descends down the stairs. Lavinia hears the jingle of keys, before the front door slams shut.

…

Lavinia learns later that her brother has been named Mace, for the weapon this year's victor used to kill his last opponent. She didn't watch the games that year; each evening when her parents and her gathered in the living room, she shielded her face with one of the lush pillows the lined their couches. Even so, she could hear the curses and the clinking of swords erupting from the speakers. She had burrowed her face deeper into the cushion.

Her father disapproved of her cowardice. "Look!" he had barked. "Enjoy the games like the rest of us are!"

She peeked out a corner of the pillow in time to see a tribute bury a mace, the only weapons provided that year, into his tribute partner's stomach. Crimson—so much like the color of raspberries that were sold in shops, she realized—spilled out, staining the grass.

It was only until she heard the final cannon ring, and the announcer—Claudius Templesmith—declare the victor that she removed the pillow from her view. This year's victor is an eighteen year-old from District One. He was, like all District One tributes, a Career: strong, lean, and vicious, trained to win from the day he could stand. He was so different last year's victor: a bronze colored hair boy who never, never (she was sure) stopped smiling. It had been a bit unnerving, but it was still better than _this _victor. There was a malicious glint in his eyes, like he could at any second leap out the television with that weapon of his. He held a spiked mace, still dripping blood from the countless tributes he had struck.

But as she watches her brother sleep, she wonders how a victor like _that _could resemble him, merely a bundle of face and flesh, a doll. He turns in his sleep, emitting a quiet sniffle. She giggles and, realizing that it was already an hour past her bedtime, tip-toes out the room, quietly, so her mother won't hear.

Once she reaches the doorway, she looks over the shoulder. Perhaps tomorrow he can help her dress up her dolls.

…

She is seven the year her father becomes a Gamemaker, , a high political position in the Capitol.. Her family watches the Games each day, marveling at the arena that her father has helped create.

This year's Games take place in a desert, seas of sand and not a tree or bush in sight. The blazing sun never sets; it is in a fixed position above the tributes. Some of the smarter ones take cover under the large boulders that litter the desert, while the others wander in circles, certain that there is a lake or tree nearby. Even the Careers this year, five well-built teenagers, have trouble surviving with their lack of water.

It is the third day of the Games, and only a third of the tributes remain. A third had been killed during the bloodbath, and the other third had died of dehydration. Of the three tributes that are not part of the Careers, one is close to death, while the other two have become allies.

The cameras focus on the dying tribute. The boy—a fourteen year old from District Eleven—has been bitten by a bright red snake that, Casear had informed them, contains enough venom to kill a full-grown man.

The boy collapses, his knees sinking into the sand. Lavinia could see beads of sweat trickling down to his chin, whether it is from the sun or the poison, she is not sure. He groans and leans forwards. It is clear now that he only has a few minutes, even seconds, left. He seems to understand this, as he closes his eyes and whispers something so soft that the speakers can't pick up.

Mace is at her side. He pulls at her hand and points at the brilliant colors the screen projects, fascinated by the screen and blissfully unaware of what is happening.

Her mother picks at the extravagant gown she dons, evidently bored with the lack of blood, the lack of action. She hasn't voiced it out loud, but Lavinia knows that she is displeased by this year's arena, for the tributes die much too quickly, and from natural causes instead of from other tributes.

"Mommy, look," she says. "The boy is hurt."

Her mother looks up, and her dull violet eyes (yesterday, they were green) meet the screen. "I see," she says.

"Can't Daddy save him?" she asks hopefully. She knows the answer already, but she asks anyways.

Her mother looks at her strangely. "Now, why would he do that?"

At that moment, a cannon is heard, and a hovercraft comes to extract the tribute's limp body from the arena. Mace must like the sound, because he claps his tiny hands and cheers. Lavinia falls silent, and doesn't speak for the rest of the Games.

…

Her father is home. It is a rare occasion nowadays; he was always at a party or at the Control Room. But the evening after school ends, she hears the front door open, and two sets of footsteps walk in. She recognizes him before he says a word. Over the years, she has differentiated his slow, heavy footsteps from her mother's quick hops, and Mace's barefooted skips. She concludes that the other person must be one of her father's co-workers, a fellow Gamemaker.

She is in the process of braiding Annabelle's waist-length blond hair, her new favorite, when she hears her father say to the stranger, "Right this way." Immediately, she untangles her fingers from Annabelle's golden locks, and lets her hard work unravel. She doesn't mind. She bounds down the spiral staircase to the first floor, where her father and his guest stand.

"Daddy!" she shrieks, running towards him, arms spread out to her sides.

"Lavinia", he says, unsmiling. He lets her wrap her arms around him, but does not hug her back. "Is your mother home?"

"No," she answers. "She went shopping."

He nods. "Good."

His father turns to his guest, and for the first time, she really looks at him. He has bronze hair and green eyes, like…like… Her eyes widen when she realizes his identity.

"Lavinia", he says as she pulls away. "Say hello to Mr. Odair."

She manages to whisper, "Good evening, Mr. Odair."

Finnick Odair looks exactly the same as he does on television, but so different too. His hair is messy, but in a way that would make pubescent girls and even middle-aged woman swoon. He is dressed casually, a far cry from the extravagant outfits he had worn before, but that is not what Lavinia notices most.

He looks wary, perhaps tired, as he follows her father down the hallway. Lavinia walks closely behind, keeping an eye on the Capitol heartthrob. He looks at her father with—what? Disgust, horror, maybe even anger.

His father leads him to the guest bedroom. When she tries to step inside as well, her father blocks her path. He smiles. "Lavinia, Mr. Odair and I have a private matter to attend to. Why don't you go upstairs and play with your dolls."

She protests. "But—"

Her father steps forwards, and Lavinia takes a step back. "Please go to your room, Lavinia." He is no longer smiling.

Behind her father, Finnick Odair sits at the foot of the bed, waiting. She finally squeaks, "Okay", and backs away.

Two hours later, they are done. They exit the room, and her father leads him to the front door. Lavinia leans against the railing as he says something quietly to Finnick Odair, and then opens the door for him so he can step outside. After he has left, her father walks back to the bedroom. She wants to run down the stairs and ask him what they had talked about that made Finnick Odair look so _afraid. _But does she really want to know?

Some secrets are better left unsaid.

…

It is her twelfth birthday. The thought came to her one morning, calmly, even though she had not realized it until today.

She is blinking the sleep out of her eyes when Mace pokes his head into her line of vision. "Happy Birthday, Vinnie," he says, grinning. From the way his hands are clasped behind his back, she could tell that he has bought something for her birthday.

She giggles at his nickname for her, and sits up. "Good morning," she says, rubbing her eyes. She nods towards the item behind his back. "Is that for me?"

Mace flashes her toothy grin, with his two front teeth missing. "Yep. I spent the money you gave me last Friday on it."

Under other circumstances, she would reprimand him on buying things without telling her. But instead, she leans forward. "Well, what is it?"

His eyes dart from her to the object behind his back. He draws his hands from behind his back and holds the item out to her. Shyly, he asks, "Do you like it?"

She takes the object from him. It is a pair of earrings—jewels, not particularly valuable.

"You said that girls like jewelry," he explains. "And you gave me a few dollars to buy candy so…" His voice trails off, and he looks at her expectantly.

"I don't wear earrings," she points out. "But it's pretty," she adds quickly when his face falls.

"How are you going to wear them if your ears aren't pierced?"

"I'll get them pierced," she promises. "Thanks, Mace."

He doesn't seem completely convinced.

"Well, I'll have to hurry up; we're going to watch the Reapings today!"She says, shooing him out of her room.

The Reapings are today, for children from the ages of twelve to eighteen.

The Reaping. The Districts. The Games.

If she had been a little less fortunate, she would be eligible to attend the Reaping.

If she had been a little less fortunate, she could be on her way to her death right now.

If she had been a little less fortunate, in a week's time she will kill other children, or be killed by them.

All for entertainment.

When she thought about it, this hadn't seemed _right_, hadn't seemed fair, for twelve years old seemed so old, but so young all the same. And she just couldn't imagine someone her age, someone like her being killed, even though she saw it happen year after year.

That day, a twelve year old from Ten is reaped. Her mother snickers _("Is he crying? How pathetic!") _and she can't help but feel guilty.

…

Mace tugs her hand. "Vinnie, look," he says, pointing at the buildings that towers over them both. "I bet if I could stand up there, I could see the entire world!"

"You think?" she mumbles, distracted by the flashing lights and the brilliant colors of passersby. They were both on their way to school. Nowadays, her mother is too busy shopping or watching television to send them, so it became her duty to make sure that her brother got to school safely.

She had originally planned on riding the bus; she brought enough money for the two of them, and with the weight of her backpack, it would be much easier on her back. But when she arrived at the bus stop, she caught sight of her classmate—whose mother works alongside her father, and could be considered a friend—sporting her new teeth, sharp and pointed at the edges, like a predator. Something about the way she barred her teeth and hissed at her made her turn away. But she supposes walking to school isn't quite so bad.

"Yeah, that one's gazillion times bigger than our house!"

She nods. A woman with jewels embedded in her skin walks past them. A sleek red car hurries by; if it had been just a little to the right, it would have hit the woman, possibly kill her.

A pause. Then: "Vinnie, why don't we have to go to the Reaping?"

"Because we're from the Capitol."

"So why do the District people have to go to Reapings?"

"Because they're from the Districts", she says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. On the billboard above them, Caesar Flickerman interviews the Head Gamemaker this year. She walks faster, tugging her brother along with her.

"But _why_?"

"Because…because…"she struggles to answer. "Because the Districts rebelled against the Capitol seventy years ago, so it's their punishment." That is what had been written in the textbooks about the history of Panem; it is what she has been told all her life. If this isn't true, then what is?

Once again, they succumbed to silence. Well, not _silence_, it can never be silent in the Capitol, not with the parties and laughter and excitement, not with the zooming cars and insistent honking. But at this moment, it came close.

"When will their punishment end?" he asks suddenly, inclining his head so he can meet her eyes.

_Never_, she almost says. It is the correct answer, after all, but it didn't seem right saying it to Mace. "Soon," she says instead.

"When?" he asks again.

"…I don't know," she admits, and that is that.

…

A stout, plump man stands besides two identical glass bowls. As he reaches in, the silver material that covers his arms twinkle. He flicks his fingers here and there, finding the right slip of paper to pick. The crowd before him squirms, much like the scaly fish that the man resembles, though it is clear that it is not because of the wind that passes by.

The man doesn't notice (or maybe he does) and grins, almost grits, his shark-like teeth at the cameras.

The man announces, "And the female tribute is…"

He calls out a name, and a fifteen- or sixteen- year old girl parts from the crowd. She is hysterical, shaking as she makes her way to the front.

Around Lavinia, her classmates snicker. A weak tribute was one to laugh at, a strong tribute was one to admire and sponsor. That was how things worked at the Capitol; Lavinia has figured out that much.

Her teacher, a middle-aged woman dressed entirely in pink, stands to the side of their television screen. Her lips are tightly pressed together. She turns her face away from the screen, and covers her mouth with a jewel covered hand.

Lavinia looks at the girl with pity. Even if she did have some sort of skill with surviving or with weapons (which Lavinia doubted), she wouldn't stand a chance; no one at the Capitol will sponsor her. That was just the way things were.

It was mandatory that teachers broadcast the Games in class. After all, they were an important aspect to their lives, even the _only _aspect to their lives. Her classmates had been delighted when they heard that students all across the Capitol would be watching the Games instead of learning. They watch with wide, eager eyes, belied by their lack of attention during lessons on arithmetic or history. Some brag loudly about what tributes their parents could sponsor this year. _(My mother was the one who sent the Odair that trident all those years ago! I bet she's going to get a dagger or something for that boy from Two.) _Others complain about Capitol children not being able to compete, _(It's not fair! If _they _can, then why can't we?) _to which their teacher explains that watching the Games are just a privilege as competing in them.

However, to Lavinia, it is the opposite. It isn't that she enjoys learning; she despises the way their teacher lectures, using wild gestures and a shrill voice. The problem is that here, in a classroom with twenty-nine other students sitting with her, there is no pillow to block her sight, and any outwardly sign of fear will result in her being mocked by her fellow classmates.

The two tributes shake hands. The male tributes seems confident, even excited, while his female counterpart is still sobbing. The camera zooms in on her face, so each tear that slides down her cheeks are clear to the viewers. Lavinia thinks she sees a smile creep across her lips, something that _that _District 2 victor wore, and all the victors before him.

She looks around. No one, not even the teacher, has noticed this. They are too busy snickering, making snide comments about how pathetic she looks and how there is no hope for her survival.

She has an inkling of doubt that the weak District 7 girl is not all she seems to be.

…

Two weeks later, the girl takes an axe and hacks at the remaining tributes. She stands over the mangled bodies of the Careers, a humorless smile at her lips. It is such a change from the quivering, stuttering girl she was just a few days ago that she is the talk of the Capitol for months afterwards.

Somehow, Lavinia isn't the least bit surprised.

…

She keeps a box hidden in her closet. It is filled with memories; each item is significant to her. She eases it out of the space between her sky blue little-girl dress and the carpeted floor, and places it next to her. It is a simple cardboard box about half her height, one that her mother wouldn't think twice about throwing away, but is valuable to her.

She takes out all her memories, and places them side by side. There are seven items in total, and the one to her far left is a simple sheet of paper, yet is the most valuable item she carries. It was Mace's present to her on her tenth birthday, the year that he first learned to write and draw and color. He had presented it to her one afternoon, holding it up to her proudly with a wide toothy grin. He had drawn a wild, hasty version of her (at least, she thinks it is her; the only thing she recognizes is her red hair, red scribbles pointing out of a lopsided circle) and the words, Happy Birthday, Lavinia! in careful letters.

She had been less than pleased at first—after all, how can it compare to her dolls?—and vowed to get rid of it. She never did. She couldn't bring herself to ruin the present that her brother had worked so hard on, so in the end, she placed the paper in the cardboard box, so she would remember not to throw it away.

She smiles when she sees the paper again, and places it back into the box.

The next six items are in order of which she received them, from the day of her first birthday to her sixth birthday. In the past she had ranked them in the order of their beauty, but now, they are equal to her. It had seemed fitting, at first, that she would receive dolls for her birthdays. After all, she had been her mother's doll, and her presents had been mannequins to dress up and whatnot. It had saddened her that one year, her parents forgot to give her a present, and that they hadn't bothered to give her anything in the next few years.

From left to right, there was golden-skinned Clarisse, the doll awarded to her on her first birthday, golden-eyed Kaitlin, Destiny, who is unusually tall and muscular, Ella, with her kind and friendly smile, Zaria, who has long brown hair, blond-haired Annabelle, and green-eyed Shanna, her most recent present.

But when she sees them, side by side, she notices how familiar they all look. Not because she had dressed them and brushed their hair countless times, but because she has seen them elsewhere.

And it hits her suddenly that Clarisse is wearing an outfit that can be mistaken for scales on a fish; Kaitlin is slim and lean, perfect for running; Destiny is so muscular she could be a bodybuilder; in one tiny fist, Ella holds a ball of yarn and in the other, she holds a needle; Zaria's bares her teeth, showing off their sharp edges; Annabelle is much more beautiful than she remembers, with her blond curls; Shanna's green eyes are the precise shade of the ocean.

How could she not notice?

With a cry, she flings the dolls across the room. Each of them hits the wall and slides down to the floor. The dolls are piled, one on top of the other, and from a distance, they could be corpses.

…

The next day, she stuffs the dolls into the trash can, praying that her parents won't notice. She returns the cardboard box to her closet.

The only item that remains is a sheet of paper.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Mute and Silenced**

**Part 2**

Over the next two years, Lavinia watches the Games carefully. She finds it funny, in a way, that no one has thought of this before, that Games provide vital information on how to survive outside of the Capitol.

She is not completely sure when she first thought of the idea, only that when she did, it made complete sense to her. She does not think she can stand another day in this place, watching children kill children each year, being surrounded by people so _sick_ they would actually cheer them on, and expected to do the same.

But after thoroughly planning, she realizes just how _crazy_ this all is. Running away from the Capitol? What are the chances of her actually making it? And even if she did somehow escape the city, then what? Where would she go?

In the forest, her mind supplies. Or in the Districts. She knows enough from the past Games about which plants are edible and how to find water. And, unlike the Games, she didn't have to worry about other tributes; it will only be her out in the forest.

Then what?

She honestly did not know. It is obvious that if she stays, she will survive longer than if she runs away. But is it really worth the lavish food and entertainment the Capitol provides, the clothes and jewels?

She thinks so.

What would her parents think of her?

She tries to imagine what her mother and father would say to this. Her mother would most likely tell her how absolutely silly this all was, throwing away all this luxury for nothing. And her father… She has never seen her father lose his temper before, and she doesn't ever want to.

And what about Mace?

He would have to stay here with their parents, watching the Games every year, living in the luxury of the Capitol. She has a feeling that Mace doesn't particularly enjoy the Games either, but would he approve of running away?

Either way, he is much too young to do this kind of thing. She will go alone, and, assuming her plan succeeds, from here on out she will always be alone.

Three months before her sixteenth birthday, she starts preparing.

…

Lavinia pads quietly to the door, feet placed on just the right tiles that won't creak under her weight. She doesn't bring anything along with her, just the clothes on her back and just enough money in her pocket to hail a taxi to the edge of the city. Her mother is upstairs sleeping—or at least, she thinks she is. She hasn't seen her since dinner ended.

It is one hour until midnight. By now, Mace is asleep in the room right next to hers. Hopefully, he didn't hear her come out of her room. She wonders who will be the first person to find that her bed is empty. It will most likely be Mace, when he discovers that she hasn't appeared at breakfast, or her mother, maybe, when she finds that her bedroom door is slightly ajar. And by then, she would be long gone, somewhere in the forest where no one can find her.

It is completely dark now, and she can just barely make out dinner table to the right of her and the television in front of her. Lavinia steps around it just in time to not run into it. She is thankful for the moonlight that reflects against the sleek black screen of the television, for without it, she doubts she would have noticed that it was there. The door is fifteen feet, ten feet away from her. Within five seconds she can escape through that door, and then she would be free to go where ever she wants, and she won't ever have to come back here again—

The bathroom door at the top of the stairs opens, and a figure steps out. Lavinia stiffens, praying that her brother won't see her. How could she have not noticed him? Mentally, she scolds herself for being so careless. She has half a mind to duck behind the television, but then he'd see her move. She can stay still, so still that he won't know—it's dark anyways, and he can't see much of anything right now.

"Lavinia?"

Too late.

"Lavinia, what are doing down there?" he says.

"Nothing" is at the tip of her tongue, but she knows he won't believe her. Instead, she hisses, "Lower your voice."

He climbs down the stairs, and joins her at the television. "What are doing here?" he whispers.

She thinks of an excuse. "I'm…just going for a walk. I'll be right back."

"It's eleven." His tone is doubtful.

"I'm…I'm just going somewhere."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can I go with you?"he asks hopefully.

"No!"

"I'll scream."

"Don't."

"I won't if you let me go with you. It's to a party, isn't it?"

Lavinia glances up at her mother's room. Thankfully, it is closed, which means that it is unlikely she has heard them. "Just…just follow me, alright? And be quiet."

He nods once and trails after her as she exits the door. Once they are outside, he asks again, "Where _are_ we going?"

She hesitates. "I'm going…away."

"Away _where_?"

"To…to…outside of the Capitol."

"You're running away," he says accusingly.

"...I am," she says. She says it softly, even though she knows that no one else can hear her; the city is bustling with noise.

He hesitates. His mouth is slightly open, as if debating on his answer. Finally, he smiles, his decision made.

"I'm still going with you."

…

The forest is so much like the arenas she had seen on television, eerily so. Any second now she expects a knife-wielding teen to charge at her, or a mutt to suddenly appear in front of her.

_But this isn't the Games_, she reminds herself. _This is real._

But she looks over her shoulder often for another reason, one that is much more likely to happen.

The Capitol.

They might be looking for her—in fact, they might know where she is at this moment. She is almost positive that escaping from the Capitol is against the law.

If they do know where she is, then she and Mace will have to return to the Capitol.

Lavinia has to nearly force herself to stare ahead instead of to the back, because worrying will get her nowhere.

"How far do we have to go?" Mace whines from behind her. "Can't we stop and rest for a while?"

She pauses. Taking a break can't hurt; besides, she is feeling a bit tired as well. "All right, we'll stop. Stay here; I'll try to find something to eat."

"How would you know if something's safe to eat?" He challenges her. "For all you know, you could bring back something poisonous that could kill the both of us!"

"I'll know," she replies. "from the Games."

She leaves shortly after that, after instructing Mace to a tree that he is not, under any circumstances, to leave. She doesn't stray far from the tree, not daring to walk further than a few meters of it. To her relief, within a few minutes, she finds a berry bush whose berries she is almost positive are harmless. After examining it carefully, she concludes that the berries are exactly the same as the ones a tribute had eaten—and didn't die from—during the last Games.

She bites into the skin of the fruit, chewing it hastily and swallowing it. Nothing happens—no excruciating pain, no nausea. Once she confirms that the berries are safe, she greedily picks as many berries as she can fit into the palm of her hand, and walking carefully as to not spill any of the fruit, calls to Mace.

"Are you sure it's not poisonous?" he asks, eyeing the berries suspiciously.

"It's the same as the ones a tribute ate last year," she says. "And I just ate one. I'm not dead, am I?"

He hesitantly nods. "Okay."

He picks up a berry but its stem, as if touching the skin of the fruit would cause his skin to break out in rashes. He pops it into his mouth quickly and chews. "Well? How is it?" she asks.

Mace doesn't answer, just hastily takes another and swallows that one as well. Mere seconds after, he reaches for another.

Lavinia laughs, the first time she had laughed all day, and says, "I'll go get some more."

…

It takes the Capitol less than fifty hours to find them.

They come early in the morning, before she is even awake. Mace is the first one to spot the hovercraft in the distance.

"Lavinia," he hisses under his breath, shaking her in an attempt to wake her up.

For a few seconds she is unresponsive, and by that time, the hovercraft is close by. He shakes her harder. "Lavinia!" he says, louder this time.

The first thing she registers is that her brother is shaking her awake, and that he is calling her name. Her _real_ name, at that. He used to call her "Vinnie" when he was younger, she drowsily remembers, before he deemed it too childish and embarrassing.

The second thing she notices as she opens her eyes are the green leaves above her head, and the moss at her fingertips—things that never appeared in the Capitol. Then she remembers. Fully remembers why she is here.

"It's too early to wake up," she mumbles to Mace, turning her face slightly to look at him. "It's barely morning, and besides, it's not like we have anything to do today."

"_They're_ here," he says. "The Capitol." He points to the bright light in the distance, slowly but steadily making its way to them.

At this, she jumps to her feet. "But…how?" The second it leaves her lips, she realizes the answer. It is so _obvious_. Someone must have seen her walk out, and they have the technology to track them down. "We need to run," she says, already backing away.

He nods, and they both start running as fast as they can. She knows it's futile—even if she were as fast as the Career tributes, no human being could outrun a hovercraft—but it would be even more pathetic of her to stand still and wait for the Capitol to collect them.

She is out of breath soon enough, her legs already sore and her chest hurting, but she doesn't stop. Mace is behind her, but not too far behind. She looks behind her. The hovercraft is close enough for her to see the Capitol emblem at its side, close enough to see its tinted windows and claws. She runs even faster, yelling at Mace to do the same.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees two children—a brother and sister, from the looks of it—are huddled under a bush. From their poor clothing, she guesses that they are from the poorer districts, perhaps Eleven or Twelve. She shouts for them—to help, to save them, even though they are District children who can't do anything, and probably despise them for taking their friends and siblings.

The girl looks at her with fearful eyes, and shifts herself so she is completely concealed from the hovercraft.

Lavinia can feel the hot breath of the hovercraft, the wind it creates as it glides over her. They are directly above her now. She knows it's worthless, but she runs even faster. Maybe if she reaches the Districts first…

"Vinnie!"

She looks up just in time to see a spear—so much like the ones provided in the Cornucopia—aimed her way, and she flinches and shields her head with her arms. It doesn't hit her. She breathes a sigh of relief, thankful, until she looks behind her and sees Mace, bleeding, with a spear embedded in his chest.

He is dead and she knows it—she knows too well from the twenty-three deaths that appear on television each year—but that doesn't stop her from screaming for him to stand up and keep running.

A claw extends from the hovercraft and lifts his body from the ground.

"_Mace!_" she screams, before her throat closes up. His name is the last word that falls from her lips.

…

Later, when they lead her to a room to cut off her tongue, she doesn't mind. Either way, she doesn't think she would have spoken another word.

She can never really escape the Capitol. It is there, whether in the form of a hovercraft or a cut tongue.

No one can in this world.

…

She soon learns that life as an Avox isn't all that hard. Sure, Avoxes were required to serve food and clean up after Capitol residents, but this position was intended to be shameful form of punishment.

She is one of the Avoxes responsible for cleaning after tributes, and keeping the training center tidy. The other Avoxes never met the eyes of the tributes, so she did the same, bowing her head low at the sight of others.

Two years later, she sees _that _girl again, the one who was in the forest all those years ago. Her name is Katniss Everdeen, and she volunteered to take the place of her younger sister. She is also from District 12, where there hasn't been a volunteer in years.

So when she sees Katniss Everdeen sitting at the table along with her district mentor and partner, she ducks her head even lower. Katniss Everdeen seems to recognize her as well. "I know you," she says at the start of dinner.

It takes her a couple of seconds to realize that who she is talking to, and when she looks up, she finds the girl to be staring straight at her. Immediately, her eyes widen and her eyes drop to the floor once again.

The Escort scolds her. "Katniss! Avoxes are not allowed to be talked to, under any circumstances." She looks partly embarrassed and partly puzzled, and she finds out why in her following question. "Where did you see this Avox?"

The girl doesn't speak. Her blond district partner answers for her. "Delly Cartwright," he says. "That must be why she seems so familiar."

Katniss nods at this, seemingly agreeing to this explanation. The Escort doesn't look completely convinced, but she doesn't question the girl any further.

…

The Districts are in a state of unrest.

Caesar Flickerman doesn't speak of it, and neither do any newspapers or television broadcasts. Knowledge of this is banned in the Capitol; but even so, one can tell if they look closely enough.

Fire girl and her District partner had just won the Games a week earlier. This was unheard of; there had never been _two_ victors before, much less two lovers. Nevertheless, the Capitol is joyful for both their victories.

But on their Victory Tour, there is an unusual increase in the number of Peacekeepers in the crowd.

…

There is a new Avox the following year. He is around the same age as her, and she likes to think that he looks like her also, with his red hair. She wonders what he did to end up like this: from running away like her, or somehow defying the Capitol in such a way that was serious enough to have his tongue cut but not executed.

_Do you regret doing whatever you did? _She wants to ask him. Being an Avox is far from ideal, and if she had just stayed at the Capitol, she wouldn't have to act as a housekeeper and she would still be able to speak. She would be able to sleep in a comfortable bed each night, and wake up late in the mornings. And spend a month each year watching teenagers her age turn into savages.

She doesn't know about him, but she doesn't regret it the least.

He gives her a grim, but knowing, smile the first they meet. Just like that, he tells her of how similar the two of them are; they are both in the same position, after all.

She doesn't wonder what his name is, or attempt to think of a name that would suit him best. Names don't matter much when one's an Avox.

That is also the year that Fire girl and her lover return to the Capitol for the Third Quarter Quell. In fact, many victors return to the Capitol, but this time, it's not to mentor. It's to compete.

The citizens of the Capitol are absolutely miserable. To see the victors they have gushed over and admired be sent to their (potential) deaths-to them it is unbearable. There had been talk about protesting or _somehow _convincing Snow to change the rules, but Snow was, unsurprisingly enough, unwilling to. So the people of the Capitol tearfully watch their _dear _victors parade through the streets and speak of the hospitality they had been so graciously offered during their many years at the Capitol.

At the end of the interviews, the victors-all twenty-four of them-stand side by side, holding hands.

The action both intrigues and confuses her. Tomorrow, at the arena, were they not going to fight? Were they, perhaps, _defying _Snow and the Capitol? She can see Fire girl do that, and maybe Chaff or Johanna, but not the rest, especially not the Career tributes.

When the gong sounds early the next day, all that happened the day before is forgotten.

…

What the others don't know is that a millisecond before the television blacks out and the Games ended, unfinished, there were hovercrafts in the sky. Hovercrafts, plural. Two of them.

One was from the Capitol. It wasn't very clear as to what they were doing; with their giant claws, the hovercraft carried in tributes-tributes that were, most certainly, alive.

And the other hovercraft, she swore, belonged to District Thirteen.

...

She and the new Avox are led down a hallway. Peacekeepers are at their sides; two stand at her sides, one in front of her, and one to the back, all four armed with guns. From the way their fingers grip where the trigger is, she knows that one wrong move would result in a bullet to her heart or head.

They are most likely in a prison; it's hard to tell, because of the dim lights. When she turns a corner, she hears someone-a woman, most likely-scream and curse, then fall silent. She slows down a bit, but then her steps quicken when she feels the Peacekeeper behind her press the muzzle of the gun to her back.

And she wonders-is this because of the Games that were cut short?

She turns to the other Avox. The two of them speak in gestures and exaggerated facial expressions, the language of the silenced. She has been an Avox for long enough to communicate without words, and long enough to understand ones like her.

She juts her chin to the hallway in front of her and gives him a confused look. _Where are we going?_

A shrug. _I don't know._

_What do you think they're going to do?_

_Nothing good, that's for sure._

After minutes of walking, they finally stop. Where they are is just a bit brighter than the rest of the hallway, though not by much. If she stuck her hand in front of her face, she doubts that she would be able to see it clearly, just the outline of it. Wondering why they have stopped here, she looks up.

And there stands her father.

He looks exactly the same as before—even younger than she remembers—even though she hasn't seen him in years. She hates to admit it, but this might have been what Mace might look like at if he were still here: pale skin, chestnut hair.

"Lavinia," he says casually, like this were a mere social visit."How's life treating you?"

She stares evenly back at him.

"Ah, I forgot. You can't speak," he says. Something akin to a sneer slides on his face, and it makes her want to duck her head and stare shamefully at the floor, but she doesn't. "You're an Avox, a criminal to the Capitol."

He pauses, as if waiting for her to say, do something, before the sneer slips off his face, an expression void of emotion replacing it. "What do you know about the rebellion?"

The rebellion?

For the first time, she notices a blond boy slumped in a nearby cell, back pressed against the wall. He watches her from the corner of his eyes, as if afraid of what is to come. She recognizes him.

A victor. Peeta Mellark.

Mentally, she puts the pieces together. The uprisings. The uncompleted Games. The joining hands of the past victors, the day before they enter the arena. A rebellion against the Capitol, she presumes. The two hovercrafts. And a victor, a living, breathing victor, kept in a prison cell.

There is a rebellion, someone somewhere planning to overthrow the Capitol. And Fire Girl is with them.

She wonders if Peeta Mellark is a rebel, and what they will do to him. Kill him, eventually, after squeezing out all the information they can out of him. But if Fire Girl is quick enough, he can be saved. And he'll be safe. Somewhere.

At this realization, she is no longer afraid, no longer tensed because of what will come. She stands up straight, and glares, defiantly, at her father, if she can still call him that. Beside her, she hears the other Avox do the same.

They know: the Capitol has already lost.

With each passing second, the rebels are one step closer to defeating the Capitol; one step closer building a new country, one that doesn't use children as sacrifices.

She doesn't know much about life before Panem, but she's sure that it was a place where people were happy and had a chance to live until adulthood. She's sure that place can be recreated, starting from now.

Lavinia doesn't feel the electric current running through her body; it's much too quick. All she knows is that through the dark gray walls of the prisons, the Capitol is weakening, little by little, and that soon, it will all be reduced to rubble.

And perhaps for the first time, she is truly free.


End file.
